Yesterday saw the annual gay pride parade in London. In the world of AA, pride is a character defect to be discardedl; in the gay world, on the other hand, it is a good way of showing the world that we have no intention of hiding ourselves away. I have watched the parade in London without fail for the past few years. It is an experience that I usually look forward to for weeks in advance; it is the sort of thing I could never imagine myself being part of in my childhood. If nothing else it is a good day out, attended seemingly by every gay person in London. For this reason I normally expect to bump into most of the gay men I’ve ever met and slept with when I go to Pride. London is a very big city, but when it comes to the gay scene things are still on a relatively small scale. Yesterday I planned to spend most of the day hanging around with Neal and his mates. Neal is a good, trustworthy friend who doesn’t drink very much, even on occasions like this. Unfortunately his friends tend to drink a lot more, and I don’t particularly like or get on with any of them. As Neal was the only person I knew planning to spend the whole day at Pride I felt obliged to stay with him. To begin with the day was good fun. The run of good weather that London has enjoyed for the past fortnight continued; all day the sun shone down on the drag queens and the semi-naked men. The atmosphere was great, as it always is.

When the parade was over Neal and his friends wanted to walk to Soho where a cabaret stage had been erected. Because of the massive crowds on the street it was difficult for the group to remain together whilst walking. From that point on the whole group was never together at any one point. Neal was clearly stressed out with trying to get everyone back together at the cabaret stage in Leicester Square; he was barely off the phone to them all afternoon. The entertainment at this point was surprisingly good – a surprise appearance by Boy George made one of the day’s highlights, as he sang his spiritual hit ‘Bow Down Mister’. Later on Neal wanted to try out the Old Compton Street bars; I wasn’t averse to the idea, although when we arrived on the famous stretch of road I found the crowds slightly overwhelming. It was still hot and a lot of people were sitting or standing in the road, which had luckily been pedestrianized for the day. I knew it would be busy, as it always is for Pride, but getting from one end of the street to the other was almost impossible, it was so crowded. We ended up in Comptons bar, a place I’ve never been particularly fond of, but it was the only place where we could find seats, and at that point I really needed to sit down.

While Neal and his mates got drunk on cold beer I sipped on diet coke, and anxiety about the night ahead began to creep up on me. We were hoping to see Lady Gaga perform at G-A-Y – to stand any chance of getting in we would have to start queuing outside the club by 9pm at the latest. I didn’t mind the thought of queuing for hours, having done a similar thing when Madonna made an appearance at the same club in 2005. Neal however was uneasy about the thought of being on his feet for so long, and until the very last minute was reluctant to commit to joining me. Needless to say I found the idea of going to stand outside G-A-Y nightclub on my own for three hours wholly unappealing.

Fortunately the promise of an amazing performance by one of the world’s biggest pop stars was too tempting for Neal to ignore in the end. None of his friends were interested in joining us, thank God – they were far too busy getting drunk in Soho to move. Neal and I turned up at Heaven at 9pm as planned and the queue was already long. There was a buzz in the air, though, which made the time pass surprisingly quickly. Very soon it was 10 o’clock and the doors were finally opened. I remembered the night I went to see Madonna at the same club four years ago – it was an equally remarkable experience, though perhaps not as fondly remembered because I was on my own and drinking. This time I would remember everything, and I was with a good friend. From then until 2 in the morning we had to do a lot of waiting. Being a big star, I guess Lady Gaga can afford to keep her fans waiting. By 1.55am I was tired, overheated and in pain, thanks to being on my feet all day. The main dancefloor in the club was packed like a tin of sardines, and I was beginning to feel sick from the smell of sweaty armpits. Having started to take the idea of meditation seriously this week, I tried in vain to get myself into a meditative space so that I could accept the tiredness and the pain more easily, but the physical messages were just too strong. I was on the verge of walking out when the music was finally turned down and the stage lights were switched on. Lady Gaga emerged from underneath the large stage and launched straight into her latest hit, Paparazzi. It was an exciting moment, marred only by the thousands of arms waving in front of me and blocking my view.

She was on stage for an impressive hour and sang most of the songs from the debut album. I didn’t live to regret my decision to stay out so late last night. For hours my body had been telling me to go home, but in my heart I knew that this was an unmissable opportunity. It’s not very often you get to see a world superstar perform for such a low cost. On my means, it’s the kind of thing that only happens once or twice in a lifetime. Earlier in the year I was cursing my luck for being so unemployable and poor. This weekend has shown that I can do just about anything I want, as long as I remain sober. Had I been drinking yesterday I wouldn’t have had enough to cover the entry cost into G-A-Y. Thankyou, sobriety!

As soon as the Lady had finished her set I was straight out of the club, desperate to get home to bed. When we emerged back out on the street there was a moment when I thought about my lack of plans for the rest of the week, and it made me feel sad. No more fun things appeared on the horizon; I imagined having to stay at home for the rest of the week just to stay within budget. After happy experiences there is always a bit of sadness, coming from that great fear that nothing could ever bring such happiness again. I don’t know if anyone else gets that, or if it’s just me with my relentless negative outlook on life. I’ve always struggled with this problem of making happiness last. Of course it doesn’t last, thanks to life’s tendency to be an endless, oscillating dance between happiness and sadness. What I would really love to do is find a peace of mind which lies behind the fluctations of pleasure and pain that are caused by life’s events. According to the book I’m reading at the moment by Kabat-Zinn, a few years of daily meditation should do the trick. That possibly sounds sarcastic or flippant – I’m starting to think that it’s good advice.

A few days or weeks of sitting quietly for ten minutes every day isn’t going to undo the years of conditioning that have trained me to cling onto life’s unpredictable events for happiness. I’ve managed to remember to meditate mindfully every morning this week; incorporating anything new into my routine is never easy, so I’m pleased with the progress. Sometimes I will inevitably forget to take those ten minutes upon awakening – a fact not to be used as an excuse for berating myself or giving up immediately. Having sat down to meditate when I got out of bed this afternoon (I allowed myself the extra sleep to recover from last night’s exertion) I felt very little sadness or frustration at having to stay indoors today. So I look forward genuinely to the benefits that a few decades of such practise might bring me.